The Braxton County Revival
New flash fiction by Arbogast
Robert McQuaid, the man known as the Gassaway Gadfly, held the rapt audience in the palm of his hand. The entirety of the county, from Flatwoods to the small holler towns like Gem and Riffle, was tucked inside the big blue-and-white tent near the Calhoun County line.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” McQuaid proclaimed. “I have here a creature.”
The audience gasped.
“No, I have here a god.”
More shock and awe, plus an added edge of anger over such outright blasphemy.
“Most important of all,” McQuaid said with his arm in the Roman orator pose, “I have here our savior.”
Now the crowd was close to a riot. Although things had been strange and unsettled for a year since the sudden appearance of the alien or demon or whatever it was that crash-landed on G. Bailey Fisher’s farm, the God-fearing citizens of Braxton County still believed in the strictures of the Old Testament, and they also knew deep in their bones that they only had one Lord and Savior.
McQuaid appealed for calm. He lowered his voice and relaxed his shoulders. The traveling salesman-turned-local politician dropped the pretend preacher act and became just another neighbor.
“I mean no heresy,” he said. “But, after speaking to so many experts, from Mr. Barker of Clarksburg to some friends with the National Guard, I feel confident in telling you that the thing behind this curtain is our deliverance.”
“Get on with it, man,” cried a voice from the crowd. Heads turned, and ears perked up. They recognized Homer Henderson, the old country mechanic notorious for his hot temper and cynical attitude.
“You’ve already committed one sin,” Homer continued. “May as well go all the way.”
“I have committed no sin,” McQuaid said. “I have only used provocative language to underscore how momentous this moment is. Really, ladies and gentlemen, I’m not sure you understand how big a deal this is. Your life will hereafter be changed for the better!”
“Is it that creature from last September?” Edna Wallace asked. “Did someone finally find it?”
“Yes and no,” McQuaid answered. “I have no proof that the creature behind this curtain is the same friend who visited us last year. However, judging by its looks and how it speaks, I do believe it is kin and of the same race.”
“Friend?” Homer bellowed. “That thing from last year weren’t no friend to anybody. It stunk like Perdition sulfur, plus it damn near killed the May boys with poison gas. You call that a friend?”
The angry chorus grew louder. McQuaid had to yell over them to be heard.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please. Please do not give in to acrimony over my inability to speak clearly. Please forgive me. I may have lost a bit of my sanity since my new friend first contacted me but trust me when I say that everything is good and glorious. The friend waiting behind this curtain means us no harm. It, in fact, wants to point us towards prosperity.”
A heckler spoke up. “Did it find a new mine to dig?”
The crowd laughed. It was a cold, cruel laugh, as Braxton County had seen mines and mining companies come and go without so much as one red cent being invested back into the communities.
“No, something much, much better than that.” The excitement was palpable in McQuaid’s voice. He rubbed his hands together and started jumping up and down on the podium. He looked like a little kid on Christmas.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen. Are you ready to meet our new friend?”
The crowd didn’t scream in applause or boo and hiss. A low grumbling moved through their ranks, which could not be accurately defined. It was neither positive nor negative. It merely existed in the space between.
McQuaid, however, was effulgent. He looked higher than the moon itself, and after his hands pulled down the velvet curtain, he remained staring in total adoration of his new friend.
The crowd moved back a little when the creature was revealed. A few even ran out of the tent completely. There, on the stage next to the reverential McQuaid, stood a monstrosity with a fleshless red face, large, disk-like yellow eyes, and talons instead of fingers. Its dress was a spectral green, with a large hood that almost looked like a halo above the creature’s head.
Despite having no visible mouth, McQuaid’s “friend” spoke to the audience.
“I have traveled many distances and have come here under orders to tell you all that gold is beneath your feet.”
“Gold?” said the chorus.
“Yes, gold,” McQuaid interjected. Our friend believes that there are streams of gold buried in the hills. If we dig deep enough, that money shall be ours.”
“Where is this gold?” Homer asked. He sounded and looked unconvinced.
“The gold is everywhere,” the creature said. By this point, its foul stench had worked its way through the crowd. Pinched nostrils and cupped mouths could not prevent the rotten-egg smell from seeping through. More started to exit the tent.
“Please,” McQuaid begged. “Do not run in fear or horror. What our friend says is true. I discovered gold on my property last night.” From a back pocket, McQuaid removed and held up a tiny ingot that glowed underneath the electric lights. A small wave of oohs and aahs spread through the thinning crowd.
“That’s nothing but fool’s gold,” Homer proclaimed. “Might even be a painted rock.”
The mechanic’s words had power. They convinced fence-sitters to jeer McQuaid and his freak.
The creature, who had a name and a mission, felt sadness. His heart hung heavily because none of the crowd believed him or his human partner. They all seemed dismissive towards the man tasked with helping the creature to spread the good news.
Eventually, McQuaid was left all alone with his friend.
“They’ll come around,” he said. “I’ll convince them.”
The creature wasn’t so sure.